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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645878">Invisible</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuranomi808/pseuds/sakuranomi808'>sakuranomi808</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom!Sam, Explicit Sexual Content, John Finds Out, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, top!dean</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:13:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>901</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645878</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakuranomi808/pseuds/sakuranomi808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Written from John's POV - his thoughts and reaction to finding out about Sam and Dean's relationship.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>459</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Invisible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is actually a really old fic that I wrote almost 10 years (!) ago. Was sifting through my old fic on LJ and surprised myself that I actually wrote a Dad Finds Out fic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thought that springs to mind: This is your own fault.</p><p>Since the day she was ripped away from you, all you've cared about – all you've known – is the irrational, overwhelming need for revenge, the obsession-bordering-on-paranoia that slowly took over your life. Over the years, you heard yourself saying it time and time again: <em>Don't trust anyone, boys. You trust each other and you trust me. That's it. Understand? </em>Two pairs of wide gold-flecked hazel, staring back at you, nodding, always so obedient. <em>Yes, sir.</em></p><p>The signs were obvious, but you ignored them. Flat-out turned the other way when you saw your younger son, half-asleep, shuffling across the worn carpet and crawling into his brother's bed at night. Dean always curled his arms around him, protecting him, shielding him from the world; both of them still under sleep's spell, nothing but instinct taking over.</p><p>You love your children more than life itself; would give anything to make sure the evil out there hiding in the shadows never hurts them. Nothing that's happened – or will happen – could ever change that.</p><p>When you first walk into the motel room, something twists in your chest and you have to close your eyes for a moment against it. Feels like a vice wrapped tight around your heart, squeezing, pressing down on it until you can't breathe anymore. When you force your eyes open again, they're still very much caught up in each other – haven't even noticed you standing there.</p><p>Sam's legs are wrapped around his brother's waist: long, lean, miles of bronze skin draped lazily over the smooth, pale flesh of your older son's back. Nude bodies locked together in a lover's embrace, Dean working his lips gently along the side of Sam's neck. He shifts his mouth over to Sam's ear, whispering something against it that makes them both laugh quietly.</p><p>Dean pushes himself up to his knees, and you're suddenly dizzy, breathless at the sight laid out before you. His cock is buried to the hilt in his little brother's ass, and when Sam shifts a bit, you can see that he too is hard – thick, flushed-dark, pulsing sticky pre-come onto his own belly. Your hand flails out for support against the ugly wallpaper as you swallow a gasp – equal parts disgust and disbelief bursting from your lips.</p><p>Sam notices you first and he chokes on a strangled sound of surprise, shoving hard at Dean's chest. Dean scrambles away, yanks the bedsheets up and over his brother's waist, then whirls around to face you. He's reaching behind him for his brother again, grasping blindly, but very purposefully putting himself between you and Sam.</p><p>Your youngest son is nearly an adult and has been taller than you for the better part of two years but he's still your child, will never stop being your baby boy. His gaze drops, though you can still see the tears welling in his eyes. Your gaze darts back over to Dean, and he's clearly sizing you up now, desperately trying to read your state-of-mind. You taught him how to do this, after all: <em>First thing to do in any situation, son – find out what you're up against.</em></p><p>“Dad, I'm sorry,” Sam whispers, voice breaking on the words, cutting through the tension thick in the room.</p><p>“Shut up, Sam,” Dean cuts in gruffly. He reaches over to pull his boxers on and then rises to his feet to step closer to you. “This is my fault. I didn't... I didn't give Sam a choice.”</p><p>There are no words really, or maybe there are just too many – all tumbling around in your head, taunting you. You look past Dean's shoulder, directly at your youngest. He's sniffling quietly, tears streaking down his face, pillow pulled close to his chest.</p><p>“That true, Sammy?” you ask him.</p><p>“No, sir,” Sam whispers.</p><p>You draw in a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut again as you let it out slowly, shakily. You raised them in this life, in this world surrounded by an invisible salt-line, bonds of trust and love and family the only things that mattered. Very little about it has ever made sense, but you stopped questioning it so long ago that you can't recall the last time you yearned for the picket fence and the lush green lawn, the big house at the end of the block.</p><p>Your eyes slowly flutter open and you ask, “What's the most important thing, Dean?”</p><p>“Watch out for Sammy,” your son replies. No hesitation, not even for one second.</p><p>“Don't think this changes that,” you hear yourself saying.</p><p>“No, sir,” Dean murmurs. He's blinking hard, red-tinged eyes still wide with fear, but now disbelief too. He moves tentatively back toward the bed to stand beside it, reaching out to thread his hands through the long hair on the back of Sam's head, pulling him gently against his torso.</p><p>Sam gratefully buries his face against his brother's chest, arms coming around to wrap around Dean's waist. He's still trembling; has always been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve for the world to see. It's with an odd sense of calm washing over you that you watch your oldest son quietly soothe his little brother, the one person in his life he'd die to protect.</p><p>That part, you understand: both of you have always had that in common. This doesn't change that; nothing will.</p>
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